Love and War
by Aldira
Summary: Harry always felt he had no purpose in life as he listened to the jeers and insults from his cousin, but he suddenly finds himself fighting to remain alive when he is thrust into the dangers of the Hunger Games . No longer can Harry remain hidden in the shadows as he becomes a part of something bigger than just the deadly "games" performed for the Capitol's sick amusement.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, and Suzanne Collins, author of the Hunger Games trilogy

Warnings: slash, meaning boyxboy, violence but nothing to extreme

Main Pairing: future Finnick/Harry

**Love and War**

Harry glanced both ways before swiftly and expertly ducking through the hole of the metal fence. He ran into the forest, checking over his shoulders every now and then to see if anyone caught sight of him. Once he traveled far enough from civilization, Harry slowed and searched for his traps. Smiling, he bent down and picked up a rabbit caught in one of his snares. Sure it wasn't the turkey his relatives were having back at the house, but at least it was still food.

After skinning and cleaning the rabbit, Harry quickly made a fire and sliced the meat into strips with his pocket knife. Hanging the meat onto a stick, he waited for it to roast, breathing in the familiar smell of crackling twigs and raw meat.

Chewing on a small piece thoughtfully, Harry straightened in alert when he heard the sound of rustling. A pale face framed by black hair similar to his own emerged from the bushes. Harry relaxed as he recognized the tall frame and strong build.

Gale flicked his eyes toward the fire and sighed. "You should put out that fire. Someone will catch you one day, I swear."

Harry flashed a cheeky smile. "You'll save me when that happens." But he still stomps out the burning embers obediently.

Gale rolled his grey eyes in exasperation as he settled down next to his friend. Harry tossed the elder a strip of hardened rabbit.

"It's your first reaping this year."

Harry didn't reply as he drew figures and shapes in the dirt with the tip of his worn shoe.

"How are you feeling?"

Harry snorted, finally looking up. "I think you should be more worried than me, Mr. I-Have-18-Tesserae-Entries."

"You're not half bad yourself with four entries so far. By the time you're my age, you'll have almost caught up!"

He chose to ignore that comment, reaching over to check on the strips of meat before placing them in a pouch.

"They shouldn't have made you take tesserae," Gale said bitterly. "What kind of family forces their nephew to do that when they obviously don't need it?"

"They're family by blood but not anything else," Harry agreed.

He tied the string of the pouch together and handed it to Gale. As the other opened his mouth to protest, Harry pushed it forcefully into the stronger, more experienced hands. "You need it more than I do. You have brothers, a sister, and a mom to look out for. All I have is myself."

Harry paused and looked deep into grey eyes. "No one has it tougher than you, Gale. Accept help when you need it."

Harry smiled slightly as he stood up. "Take care."

With those last words, Harry trekked back out of the forest and under the fence, mentally preparing himself for the reaping about to take place.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, and Suzanne Collins, author the The Hunger Games trilogy.

Warnings: slash, meaning boyxboy, violence

Pairing: future Finnick/Harry

Note: I will be altering some of the characters' ages. The story takes place before the _Hunger Games_.

**Love and War**

Fiddling nervously with the worn threads of the stiff button up shirt, Harry was herded into his own age group. He craned his head around, trying to look for Gale. Seeing him with the other fourteen year olds, Harry smiled in greeting. Gale sent him a quick nod before turning to look at the front stage, face dropping into a somber expression. Harry shifted slightly and glanced over at his side, recognizing the uncharacteristic blond hair and blue eyes as belonging to a classmate of his. He found himself envying the baker's son, who at the age of 12 was better fed than most of the population, including Gale and Harry. The brunet doused his jealousy before Peeta can see; though that was an easy task to accomplish as the blond was too busy staring at a rather malnourished girl Harry saw a few times in the seam.

Harry found his attention diverted to the front when a very optimistic voice started speaking.

"Welcome, welcome!" A lady wearing a poofy, bright orange dress that reminded Harry of a pumpkin and blonde curls with streaks of the same hideous color to match strolled on stage wearing deep green heels; the laces wrapped around her ankles giving the illusion of vines trailing behind her. Harry winced at her ridiculous Capitol outfit. Everything about her, her clothes, accent, screamed wealth and fortune, oblivious to the hardships of the poorer districts, just like the rest of the Capitol. Everyone was all just pawns for their sick and twisted games, used only for their entertainment. With that thought, Harry grew to hate Effie Trinket a bit. Inside though, he knew that while she wasn't the main proprietor and it wasn't her fault everyone in the seam were how they were, a small, more vulnerable part of him resented Effie for not helping.

"Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

Harry went rigid along with all present. A trickle of fear was registered in the back of his mind, but other than the sudden coldness in his hands and feet, Harry felt far away, like this was happening to someone else. No longer was Harry afraid. He was more detached and numb as Effie walked to one of the reaping balls.

"Ladies first," she told the crowd before digging her hand into the bowl and pulling out a slip of paper.

Pausing for effect, Effie dramatically held up the paper and announced the unfortunate victim's name.

"Hannah Abbott."

A girl in the fourteen years section froze before making her way bravely up the stage. Harry commended her for not crying even though she desperately looked like she wanted to.

Effie dug her hand into the boys' reaping ball and unraveled the delicate piece of paper, not understanding that she was holding the fate of the person in her hands.

"Dudley Dursley."

Time stood still for Harry even as the other boys moved away from Dudley like he had received the death sentence, which, in a way, he had. Harry could imagine the despair that would overtake his Aunt Petunia's face, crying and wailing that would borderline sounding pretentious. He could almost see the unattractive purple that Uncle Vernon would turn as he yelled and shouted at the Capitol, struggling against the Peacekeepers holding him back, cursing about the wretched Hunger Games that he watched so joyously before his son was reaped. The two would live a life with no meaning and purpose now that their son was gone, marching to his ultimate death. Oh, they would pray everyday for his return, only to be forced to watch as he was brutally murdered by other children. And, Harry couldn't let that happen.

As Dudley was making his plod up the steps with his hands shaky and body trembling, Harry could see the terrified expression on his cousin's face. He should be pleased that Dudley now had that same look in his eyes, same fear that Harry had when he was beaten to the brink of unconsciousness by his own family. But he was not. Because while Dudley treated Harry unkindly and often abusively, he truly did not wish death on his cousin. So with a straightened back and a jutted chin, Harry spoke the words that would change his fate.

"I volunteer."

It was mumbled so suddenly, so softly that Harry would have missed it if he weren't the one who said it. Heads turned in disbelief and peered intensely around. Who said it? Who volunteered? Harry stared at Effie Trinket, who stopped talking and was searching the crowd, wondering if someone was seriously volunteering, and repeated the words again, more strongly with determination lacing his voice.

"I volunteer as tribute."

With eyes following him, Harry shouldered his way through the crowd to the stage. He passed by his gaping cousin and gave a nod to him.

"Well."

Effie seemed to have regained the ability to speak, brushing off her shock. With all eyes of those present and not present on him, Harry reminded himself not to appear too nervous, knowing the cameras around him will display even his slightest move to everyone in Panem. Imagining the grimace that would appear on the Capitol's citizens when they catch sight of his hand-me-down stained, white shirt and baggy slacks, Harry hid a smile, for once thanking his Aunt for giving him Dudley's old clothes.

"It seems we have a volunteer. The first volunteer in the history of District 12, I believe."

Harry searched the crowd for Gale.

"And what is your name?"

Finally spotting his friend, Harry's eyes latched onto Gale's face, which was morphed into an expression of alarm and concern.

"Harry Potter."

"Was that your friend I called up a minute ago?"

"Cousin," Harry corrected, absent-mindedly, turning his face to look at Effie Trinket.

"Ooh!" she squealed. "You have the most beautiful emerald eyes!"

Harry remained silent, unsure of how to answer to that.

"Well, we have our two District 12 tributes."

After that, Effie gave a concluding speech, but Harry wasn't listening, too absorbed in thinking about what he had just done. How was he going to survive this?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, and Suzanne Collins, author of the Hunger Games trilogy.

Warnings: slash, meaning boyxboy, characters might be OOC

**Love and War**

Harry watched the scenery go by with amazement on the train. Hannah Abbott sat across from him, also looking out the window. For a moment, Harry allowed himself to feel pity for the two of them, knowing they were being pushed to their absolute deaths, and that they even might have to fight against each other. Before he can get too far in his pity party though, the door opens to reveal Effie in a new but just as outrageous gown. This one, it seemed, was inspired by a peacock with the flamboyant feathers and rich colors of green and blue. Noticing he can't quite tear his eyes from her, Effie flashed him a smile full of teeth.

"This is the closest color I could get to your eyes. When we get to the Capitol, I am going to order the exact shade of those emerald jewels."

"Huh. Hope it's not as ridiculous as the one you're currently wearing."

Harry turned and noticed that another person had followed the District 12 escort in. Immediately, he noticed Effie's face morph into a grimace, looking as if she smelled something vile, which she might have as Harry caught a whiff of the powerful stench of alcohol on the man that was now leaning against the door.

"Haymitch Abernathy. I'll be the one to coach you in hopes that you'll be smart enough to actually survive." He stared intently at Harry as he said this. The twelve year old shifted uncomfortably at the eyes boring into his face.

"Hopefully, this year District 12 will have a victor," he grumbled as he left the room.

"Excuse his behavior," Effie said, "it's like he's been raised by wolves."

Harry tuned Effie out, wondering what to make of Haymitch's bewilderment when he saw at Harry's face. It looked like the man had seen a ghost.

* * *

Harry watched as Haymitch gripped Hannah's arm, leading her away for some one-on-one tips. He saw the blonde's flinch at the roughness as their mentor tugged her along. Harry noticed that Haymitch was harsh on many occasions without ever meaning to be, like he lost the ability to be gentle somehow. He couldn't help but pity the man.

* * *

Harry wandered down the hall. He couldn't sleep, so he hoped that a little midnight walk would tire him. The corridor was dimly light, every corner shrouded in shadows. Harry paused as he spotted a pair of black shoes ahead. His eyes trailed up to face the owner of said shoes. He gave a slight nod at his mentor before making a move to go around him.

Harry stiffened when the man grabbed him by the shoulders harshly. The two stood in silence, Harry meeting Haymitch's eyes hesitantly as he continued to stare intently into emerald orbs.

"You're him, right? You have to be," Haymitch whispered desperately, "You look just like him but with her eyes."

Feeling more confused than ever, Harry winced slightly as the hands gripping him clenched tighter. Haymitch paid no mind to his pain, however, pulling him into a rough hug.

"I won't let them take you away again," he said intensely, squeezing Harry until it was difficult to breathe. Harry stood awkwardly with his arms held out, unsure if he should reciprocate the embrace.

"What do you mean?" Harry was unsure of why Haymitch was acting this way all of a sudden.

"There's so many answers but so little time. All you need to know right now is that I'm your godfather, and I don't plan on making the same mistake again," Haymitch said. "After this is all over, I'll explain everything."

Harry buried his face in his mentor's chest, clenching his eyes shut in nauseating confusion and heart-wrenching sorrow. Why didn't Haymitch come for him after all these years? Why didn't he take him away from the Dursleys? Was Harry even going to survive the Games to hear his explanations?

* * *

Harry laid his head on his godfather's shoulder, still in disbelief that he actually had someone who cared about him. Of course, he had Gale, but it was different. Haymitch knew his parents. He was the only thing Harry had left of them that didn't hate his guts.

His godfather (Harry loved that phrase) carded his fingers through Harry's hair. He tried to bat away the tiredness warring inside him, but a yawn managed to break free and surface. The hand playing with the midnight locks stilled before patting them gently once and dropped to rest on Harry's shoulder.

"Do you want to sleep?" Haymitch's lips were quirked up in amusement at the stubborn head shake.

"Tell me more."

"Well," the man continued recounting one of his many adventures with the other Marauders.

After multiple bouts of muffled laughter, the two sobered down to a comfortable silence. Harry found that he enjoyed being in the man's presence. The two were currently lying in bed in Haymitch's room. Harry was surprised by the sudden youth and exuberance that appeared in his mentor's demeanor as he talked with him, a sharp contrast to Harry's earlier impression of him.

"Haymitch?" Harry asked hesitantly, unsure if he should ask this question, not wanting to ruin the relaxed atmosphere.

"Sirius, Harry. Call me Sirius," he answered nonchalantly.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip nervously. He peeked up at the man through his bangs, emerald eyes shining in the dark unnaturally.

"Okay, Sirius," he tested the name, letting it tumble off his lips. Harry allowed a small smile. That name suited him much better than Haymitch.

Sirius made a noise in the back of his throat to signal Harry to keep going.

"If you're my godfather, why didn't you come for me?" Harry couldn't help but let a bit of betrayal seep into his voice. He blinked rapidly to prevent himself from shedding any tears.

"Oh Harry," Sirius rolled over to face his godson, the only thing he had left of them. He brought him close and rubbed his back soothingly. The tears that were brimming in his eyes finally spilled over as Harry was enveloped in the warm embrace, cascading down his face and blurring his vision to soak into Sirius's shirt.

"I thought you were dead. I thought you were gone, along with your parents," he whispered in pain, reliving what happened that night many years ago.

"But now that I have you," Sirius continued, "I won't let anything hurt you."

The sobs slowly subsided to the occasional hiccup or sniffle.

Harry let out a watery laugh before grimacing. "Ugh, now I have a headache."

Sirius, who returned to running his fingers through his godson's hair, chuckled and stroked Harry's head in sympathy.

"Tell you what?" Sirius pulled back slightly to look into emerald eyes. "After all of this is over, how about we find a nice, cosy house and move in together?"

Harry blinked in shock before he sported a face splitting grin. "I'd love that very much."

Sirius cupped Harry's face and kissed him gently on his head. "Now, go to sleep."

Harry obediently closed his eyes with a silly smile still on his face. Funny how he was never this happy in life until he was heading towards death itself.

* * *

"We're almost there."

Harry looked up at the awe-filled voice. Hannah was pressed closely to the window, gazing to the left. The brunet walked up next to her, staring shocked at the cheering crowds gathered around. He felt overwhelmed at the amount of people, all here to greet the victors, to greet him. Suddenly, Haymitch's words from a past conversation echoed in his head.

_"Harry, you'll need a way to gain favor from the people of the Capitol. You're still young, so be sure to play hard on the cute factor."_

With that in mind, Harry flashed his most charming smile and waved shyly to the public. Hannah quickly followed his example. In his head, Harry couldn't help but notice the likeness between the citizens of the Capitol and a poisonous snake. It's similar to offering the reptile a dead mouse in hopes it wouldn't bite you, but there will always be the rational fear that it could kill you with a quick flash of its fangs.


End file.
